Page 3 of Hometown Heart

Jack blinked and gazed into my eyes. "You should've seen him that night. He didn't cry, didn't throw a tantrum. He walked out to the back porch, sat down, and started breaking it. He dismantled it splinter by splinter, like he was trying to unravel something inside him." Jack exhaled, shaking his head. "Took me way too long to realize what he was really breaking wasn't the stick."

Jack met my eyes then, really met them. "Third stick's the charm, right?"

"Third stick, third town, third chance," I said. "We're good with thirds around here."

He smiled—small but real—and turned toward the door. The bell jingled one last time.

I let out a slow breath and turned back to the counter, but my mind remained focused on the look in Jack's eyes and how some broken things weren't about the specific item at all.

I hadn't even finished wiping down the espresso machine when Dottie Perkins burst through the door in a flutter of paisley scarves and jangling bracelets, making the bell chime with unusual urgency. Her cat-eye glasses were slightly fogged from the temperature change, but that didn't slow her down.

"Girls!" She made a beeline for Ruthie and Vi's table, barely pausing to wave her regular order at me. "I saw the most gorgeous man walking into the arena with a little boy at his side. Surely, you've seen him. If you know anything, do tell."

I busied myself with Dottie's usual— double-shot cappuccino with extra foam and a dash of cinnamon—trying not to give away that I was hanging on every word.

"Single father, I'd bet," Ruthie supplied, lowering her voice. "From Montreal originally. There's no mistaking that accent."

"But the boy mentioned New York," Vi added, clearly pleased to have a detail to contribute. She looked at Ruthie. "Divorced?" They both nodded.

My hand tightened involuntarily on the portafilter. Divorced. That explained something about the weight on Jack's shoulders.

"Poor woman. Letting that hunk of man escape." Dottie leaned in, her bracelets clinking against her coffee cup as I set it down.

"No, the ex is a man—Edward," Vi corrected. "Somewhat of a louse, I'd say."

I fumbled my way back to the espresso machine. It was a good excuse to turn away and mask the expressions filling my face.

"And he's already got Cody signed up for hockey?" Dottie was practically vibrating with excitement. "Oh, Brooks Bennett will be pleased. We need fresh blood in the junior league if we're going to beat Camden this year."

"Silas," Ruthie called out, "didn't you think he had remarkable eyes? So soulful."

The milk pitcher nearly slipped from my grip. "I'm not sure I noticed. I was more focused on getting their order right." That wasn't entirely a lie.

I did focus on their order. And Jack's voice. And how his hand settled protectively on Cody's shoulder.

"Speaking of orders," Dottie pivoted in her chair, "what did they get? That tells you so much about a person, you know."

"Black coffee with a splash of cream," Vi answered before I could say it was nobody's business. "Very classic. Very masculine."

Hearing Vi's response, I wondered what my own go-to drink order said about me. It was a complicated pour-over with house-made vanilla syrup.

"And the boy got hot chocolate with those adorable little seashell marshmallows," Ruthie added. "Did you make those yourself, Silas? They're charming."

"Family recipe."

"Oh! That reminds me," Dottie exclaimed, "speaking of family recipes, you'll never guess what I heard about Betty's secret ingredient in her award-winning clam chowder—"

The bell chimed again, bringing Brooks Bennett through the door, his cheeks reddened from the cold. He was still imposing in his casual clothes, though the fierce intensity I remembered from our high school hockey days had mellowed into something warmer.

"Silas," he nodded, then turned to the gossip table with an easy smile. "Morning, ladies."

"Brooks!" Dottie straightened in her chair. "We were discussing the new addition to your junior league. Such a promising young player, wouldn't you say?"

"Cody's got natural talent," Brooks agreed, leaning against the counter. "And a father dedicated to giving him a fresh start." His eyes met mine briefly. Of course, Brooks would know Jack's story—he'd probably heard it during registration.

I busied myself with Brooks' usual order—an Americano with an extra shot. "How're the drills going?"

"Good. However, Jack might need another coffee after watching Cody take some hits. The first practice is always tough on hockey parents."

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